Cursed (#1, Voodoo Nights)

Prologue

Author's Note: "Cursed" will be published on November 17 by Evatopia Press. This is a sneak preview of the novel, exclusive to Wattpad. 

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Prologue

Marie Toussaint moved as fast as her plump body would go down the street running between the Iberville Projects and an expansive cemetery located just outside the French Quarter of New Orleans. The early autumn night was chilly enough to make her shiver despite the gown she wore. Street lamps rendered the sidewalk well-lit while the graveyard and side streets were shrouded in darkness.

As a member of a culture that revered death and celebrated the transition of a person from flesh into a spirit, Marie normally felt comfortable – honored even – to be anywhere near the tombs of the deceased.

Except when she came to the city.

Evil lurked somewhere in the cemeteries of New Orleans, and it scared her more than the Projects at night. She dug through her pocket to grab a good luck gris-gris she created for herself, a chicken claw and cat foot bound with the hair of a loved one and blessed by no less than two magic spells. Comforted by the charm, she focused on the rhythmic clicking of her bone and wooden bracelets instead of the unwelcoming city around her. 

By the time she reached the end of the cemetery, she was panting and ready for a tumbler of her favorite Sazerac. She licked her lips and slowed without stopping. She was already half an hour late for the secret meeting in the city with the heads of the other two Houses – families of ancient voodoo magic bloodlines.

She stopped to catch her breath.

Someone had begun following her at the bus stop and was closing in. Pretending not to notice, she silently asked the spirits to warn her of any danger, the same way they told her someone trailed.

She began walking again.

Rene. The spirits whispered the name of the gang member in a voice only she could hear.

“Ah. The warrior,” she said loudly, pleased. “He watches over me.”

She listened intently for a moment, wondering if he’d respond. Her pace was quick for her, but slow for a young man accustomed to prowling the wards and graveyards of New Orleans. He could’ve robbed her or attacked her or worse. But he wouldn’t. Not this member of the Loa Ogoun gang. Named after the warrior god, Ogoun, the LO gang was small and dedicated to voodoo. They were created in the wake of Hurricane Katrina to protect the core voodoo religion and its adherents when the city was thrown into total chaos after the storm wiped away most of the city – and all forms of law and order.

“I ain’t no warrior,” Rene grumbled at last. “How you know I’m following, Madame Marie?”

“The spirits protect them who serve well,” she said with a grateful look towards the cloudy sky.

The rugged gang member materialized out of the shadows lining the storefronts and apartment buildings. Tall and lean, Rene wore baggy jeans and a t-shirt with cap sleeves that left the tattoos on his roped forearms visible.

“You got almost all the Loas on your arms,” she said in approval. “Ogoun twice.”

“He’s my family’s god,” he said, pointing to the warrior god’s symbol.  It was in the center of both forearms.

Any other day, she might try to convince him that the spirits really did want him to take his place as a warrior. Today, however, she was already late. She walked faster instead and saved her breath for the journey.